Chance and Hazard
by Celtic Knot
Summary: [Sabacc Shift, Part 1] Six years before the events of "Ten of Sabres," a young and arrogant Thane Krios accepts a contract from a jittery slicer in Canto Bight. But blackmail is the name of the game as what seemed to be a routine assignment turns out to be anything but.


**Chance and Hazard**

 _Chapter 1: Eight of Sabres_

"The Eight of Sabres indicates constraint, and the frustration that results. Your options are limited, and the obstacles you face seem insurmountable. This card speaks of fear, disillusionment, or even paranoia. Proceed with caution and patience."  
—Lunira, _The Sacred Jhabacc: Foretelling the Future_

* * *

Zandr Marell fought back the urge to down another drink. He was three deep already, and he needed to be clear-headed for this meeting. And in all honesty, the alcohol wasn't doing much to settle his nerves, anyway.

The noise of the cantina seemed determined to worm its way into his head and drive him to distraction. Too many voices cursed and shouted and laughed and argued in a cacophony of alien languages. Off-key music from the band in the corner suggested some of the players were less concerned than Zandr was about staying sober. A fight erupted at the other end of the bar, the shattering of glass and the scraping of chairs barely registering in the overall din. Too much noise. It set his teeth on edge. If anything less were at stake here, he'd have bolted long ago.

His dark mood must have been contagious, or at least palpable, because he found himself sitting quite alone despite the crowd. Everyone, even if they were blind, stumbling drunk, gave him a wide berth. Everyone, that is, except Avara, the blue-skinned Twi'lek bartender. She lavished attention on him as if he was the only customer in the house, much to the other patrons' annoyance, clearly trying to draw him out of his shell—much to his own. Zandr wanted only to be left alone to wait for his contact, but she persisted, hovering solicitously, calling him "cutie" when he refused to give his name, at times leaning in so close he could smell her perfume over the omnipresent miasma of smoke and booze. If only she knew just how lost her flirtations were on him.

Oh, she was attractive enough, he supposed. A pretty face, a lithe body that moved with the grace of a dancer, a laugh that was more musical than whatever the band was doing. Her smile was maybe more than friendly, and her long, shapely lekku twitched suggestively. She was certainly lovely; he could appreciate that. She was just altogether too… well, female for his taste. He considered telling her as much, just so she might _go away._

Zandr checked the time. A few minutes early, still. _Do not be late,_ had been his very emphatic instructions. Emphatic enough that he'd gotten here a full hour before his contact was supposed to arrive, and he was only getting more anxious the longer he waited. He scowled into his glass as he swirled it around, the half-melted ice clinking weakly against the sides. Finally, he decided he didn't care so much about sobriety after all, and picked up the glass to—

"Good evening, Sere Marell."

The voice came from just behind him, the words half whispered practically in his ear. Zandr jumped, smothering a yelp as ice and whiskey sloshed out of the glass and down his shirt. The owner of the voice chuckled softly as he slid into the seat beside him. "My apologies. It was not my intention to startle you."

"Sure it wasn't," Zandr snarled. "How long were you standing there?"

"Only a moment." The newcomer's lips curved up in a small smile. "But I've been in this bar, watching you, for some time now."

"'Course you have." Zandr knocked back the rest of his drink, grimacing at the watered-down taste. He took a moment to study the man beside him. He'd known he'd be meeting a Drell, of course, but… this Thane Krios wasn't exactly what he'd expected in an assassin.

Then again, what had he expected? The dossier he'd been given had been woefully incomplete, containing little more than a name, a species, and a list of kills suspected to be his work. There was no hard evidence, little biographical information, not even a picture. The man must be an absolute master at covering his tracks if even the Empire's intelligence was so spotty.

Still, Krios just didn't look like a killer for hire. When Zandr had been told he'd be meeting an assassin, he'd pictured a grizzled old warrior with a scarred face and well-worn armor: essentially a bounty hunter with specialized skills. But Krios was young and handsome, clad in dark brown form-fitting leather that accentuated every wiry muscle. Zandr had to resist the sudden urge to reach out and touch him. He shook his head. _I must be drunker than I thought._

As the silence stretched on, Krios quirked his eyebrow ridge at him. "I presume you did not bring me all the way to Cantonica simply so you could stare."

Zandr's face flushed hot. "I… uh, no. Sorry." He cleared his throat and tried to force a little more confidence into his voice. "I have a contract for you."

"Of course." Krios leaned his elbows on the bar and folded his hands under his chin, facing forward rather than looking at Zandr. "And who, then, has so vexed a small-time slicer and semi-professional sabacc player as to require my services? I am not easy to locate, and my rates are dear."

"I know, I know. Believe me, I know." He raked a hand through his hair, a little unsettled to learn that Krios had checked up on him. Just how much had he discovered? If he found out who Zandr was working for…

 _If this is gonna work, you're gonna have to get a grip!_ Zandr swallowed hard and spoke quickly, reciting his story before his courage could fail him. "There's a man here in Canto Bight; his name is Elvidar Thisprie. He cheated me. I did a little, ah, code work for him, and he wanted to play me at sabacc to win back my fee. So I figure, sure, why not? I'm a damn good player, I'll probably win even more off him. Wipe the damn smirk off his face. But he cheated, and I lost thousands. Tens of thousands." He balled his hands into fists. "And if he won't pay me back with money, I want him to pay with his life."

Now Krios did look at him, fixing him with a penetrating stare that Zandr had to fight hard to return with any semblance of equanimity. He wondered for a terrifying moment just how sensitive a Drell's hearing was, if Krios could detect the tell-tale thundering of his heart. And those eyes, huge and dark and as utterly inscrutable as the depths of the ocean, seemed to gaze into his very soul. It was even more unsettling coming from a youth who couldn't have been more than twenty-five at the outside.

Finally, just before Zandr surrendered to the urge to fidget under his scrutiny, Krios blinked once and turned away, releasing him. But his relief was short-lived. "No," said Krios flatly.

"'No'? Whaddaya mean, 'no'?" Zandr demanded, almost wincing at the note or frantic desperation that crept into his voice. "You haven't even heard my offer!"

Krios glared at him coldly. "A life is a sacred thing. I will not take one for so petty a reason as a gambling dispute." He stood, straightening his jacket with a sharp tug. "Contact a bounty hunter if you would have revenge. I'll have no part in it."

Zandr could only stare, slack-jawed, as Krios turned on his heel and walked away. _Sacred?_ This guy was just full of surprises, wasn't he? Whatever he had or had not expected from an assassin, anything resembling a conscience—let alone spirituality—was the very last. And that utterly unforeseen wrinkle was about to derail this entire operation before it even got started.

And of course, it would be Zandr who paid the price for failure.

He had to stop him. "Wait!" he cried.

Krios stopped and turned back around to face Zandr, hands tucked behind his back, brow ridge raised. Such confidence, such arrogance in his posture, especially for one so young. It was as alluring as it was intimidating. If he'd earned it, it was no wonder he'd been targeted.

Zandr bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to keep the burgeoning panic off his face as his mind raced. He had to say something. Anything to convince Krios to accept the contract. But what?

He almost had to laugh at himself. Here he was, one of the best sabacc players in the Outer Rim, the man who could bluff his opponents into thinking a bombed-out hand was an Idiot's Array, afraid to tell a lie.

So he told the truth—some of it, anyway. "Look, I didn't want to mention it," he said with feigned reluctance, "but this guy Thisprie, he… he threatened my mother. He's gonna kill her."

Those huge, dark eyes searched his face intently. Zandr forced himself to hold Krios's gaze, to put some steel in his spine and look like the kind of person who'd pay a man for murder.

Finally, Krios nodded once, sharply, then reclaimed his seat at the bar and gestured to Avara for a drink. To Zandr, he said, "Tell me more."


End file.
